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He look'd upon the dead
And sorrow seem’d to lie,
Pale on the fast-shut eye.
And the heavy hand of clay,
Gave his soul's passion way.
Oh, father! is it vain,
This late remorse and deep ? Speak to me, father ! once again,
I weep-behold, I weep! Alas! my guilty pride and ire !
Were but this work undone, I would give England's crown, my sire !
To hear thee bless thy son.
Speak to me! mighty grief
Ere now the dust hath stirr’d! Hear me, but hear me!- father, chief,
My king ! I must be heard !
-Hush'd, hush'd-how is it that I call
And that thou answerest not? When was it thus ?-woe, woe for all
The love my soul forgot!
“Thy silver hairs I see,
So still, so sadly bright!
They had not been so white !
No longer couldst thou strive ;-
To kneel and say – forgive !'
“ Thou wert the noblest king,
On royal throne e'er seen;
Of all, the stateliest mien ;
In war, the bravest heart-
Thou wert-and there thou art !
“ Thou that my boyhood's guide
Didst take fond joy to be!-
And climb’d thy parent-knee ! And there before the blessed shrine,
My sire ! I see thee lie,-How will that sad still face of thine
Look on me till I die!”
THE VASSAL'S LAMENT FOR THE FALLEN
“Here (at Brereton in Cheshire) is one thing incredibly strange, but attest. ed, as I myself have heard, by many persons, and commonly believed. Before any heir of this family dies, there are seen, in a lake adjoining, the bodies of trees swimming on the water for several days."
Yes! I have seen the ancient oak
On the dark deep water cast,
Or the rush of the sweeping blast ;
I saw it fall
, as falls a chief By an arrow in the fight, And the old woods shook, to their loftiest leaf,
At the crashing of its might! And the startled deer to their coverts drew, And the spray of the lake as a fountain's flew !
'Tis falln! but think thou not I weep
For the forest's pride o'erthrown;
To be pour'd for this alone !
A youthful head, with its shining hair,
And its bright quick-flashing eye-
Too fair a thing to die !
He bounded by me as I gazed
Alone on the fatal sign,